Ben has a bladder infection. He was surprisingly good at the vet, despite strongly objecting to being manhandled, but getting him into the carrier was like death. Twenty minutes and a towel later, I finally had to dismantle the carrier, cram him in, slam the top back on, and do it that way. I got him there, having issued copious warning to the vets that Ben was a great cat, but only on his own terms, only to have him behave very well. Then they crammed him back into the carrier. That was apparently an adventure. Ten minutes after he was due to be released, the vet tech came out, set the carrier down, and said grimly "I am not very happy with him right now." "But he's such a sweety!" said the receptionist, petting him through the bars. Ben purred and accepted petting. The tech gave me a look and went back to nurse her wounds.
Now I get to pill him. Ben does not approve of pilling. Because Ben weighs seventeen pounds, the vast majority of which is muscle, this is hard to work with. I bought a pill gun. The solution seems to be speed and brutality--grab by scruff of neck, pin, shove gun in mouth and slap trigger, all in five seconds if possible.
Fortunately, he also doesn't hold a grudge at all. Thank god.
Tomorrow I fly out to Beloit, Wisconsin, to do my little talk on art and whatnot. I'm looking forward to it--likely to be my last break from mad frazzledom!